


One Foot Inside

by misura



Category: A Place of Greater Safety - Hilary Mantel
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't decide whether to pity or admire you," Camille said. "I mean, of all the men out there, how many of them do you think actually <i>care</i> if they're any good in bed?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Foot Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aramley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aramley/gifts).



"Is this a request to watch me and Lucile fuck?" Camille asked, and Robespierre winced both at the crudeness of his language and the interpretation that had been put on his question; don't you know me at all, Camille? How can you think I would ask such a thing?

The fact that Camille's expression was equal parts delighted and intrigued did nothing to help.

"No. No, nothing at all like that." Robespierre wondered if he ought to chuckle, pass the whole matter off as a joke between two men who were good enough friends to joke about such matters, but no, this was Camille, he should be honest with Camille. "Only - "

"I could probably get someone else - someone you don't know and aren't likely to ever run into again," Camille said. "I know you; you'd probably find it awkward, after, and you like Lucile, after all."

How would you know I'd never run into them again, Camille? Robespierre wondered. I meet a lot of people; it's necessary for my work. You can't speak for the people if you never meet them.

"I do like your wife," Robespierre said. "Very much so." She suited Camille very well, he felt.

"She's mine, you can't have her," Camille said. " _Borrow_ her, maybe, although I should warn you she's broken many a man's heart, our dear Lucile."

And you? Robespierre thought. Do you ever stop and think there might be people who care about you, Camille? Who love you? Who feel hurt, when you insist on hurting yourself? "You deliberately misunderstand me."

"Yes, well, a lot of people seem to do that kind of thing by accident. At least I put some effort in it. And, really, Max, what did you expect me to do? Draw you a map? Write you a short instruction"

"Yes, actually," Robespierre said. It seemed a reasonable enough request to him. "Something along those lines."

"I can't decide whether to pity or admire you," Camille said. "I mean, of all the men out there, how many of them do you think actually _care_ if they're any good in bed? There's a reason women love me, even if they seem quite keen on you as well, these days. The allure of the unattainable, I suppose; if you acted more like me, you'd probably be a lot less popular."

"I like to believe people value me for my convictions."

"Everybody has convictions nowadays," Camille said. "They're fashionable to have at the moment, and a lot cheaper to get than a new hat."

"I believe it is my duty to strive to do well in all aspects of my life," Robespierre said, thinking no, you are wrong, Camille; there are people out there who believe in your Revolution because it is the right thing. How can you be so cynical? Have you no trust in your fellow man? Who has done this to you?

"Fine," Camille said. "I believe your intentions are pure and noble and not at all motivated by any desire to see anyone but your Eleonore naked. Incidentally, are you going to be marrying that girl?"

"I'm too busy with the current crisis. We agreed it's better to wait."

"How nice for you."

"You don't approve," Robespierre said. "You're right, of course; the situation is not at all fair to either the girl or her family. It is very good of them not to make a fuss, to be so understanding."

Camille stared at him. "There's such a thing as celibacy, you know. I have no personal experience with it myself, but I've been told it suits some people very well."

"If you only want to mock me, I do have other things to do."

"It's not that I want to," Camille said. "It's that you make it too easy for me. But no, you're right. You should come by later, we'll have some wine and talk. Lucile will be there."

"Not too late, I hope." Robespierre fretted. "The family will worry if I stay out too long, and I don't want them to stay up, waiting. They need their sleep." They would not blame him, of course; the Revolution often demanded long workdays. The Duplays understood this.

"Tell them you'll be spending the night with me. That should set their minds at ease."

Robespierre smiled faintly. "Rather the opposite, I think."

"Well, I don't like them either, so I suppose I can't complain if the feeling's mutual. Perhaps they think I'll try to lure you away from them."

You probably could, if you wanted to, Robespierre thought. If anyone can make me leave that warm, welcoming home, those good people, it's you, Camille.

"Look, Max," Camille said. "If you change your mind later today and decide not to come, I'll understand. You have your reputation to consider; I won't think less of you for it. I -"

"Stop." Robespierre reached out, touched Camille's shoulder. "Don't talk like that. It's nonsense. We're friends; I forbid you to speak that way." And what is the point, anyway, when you should know as well as I do that I will come regardless of what anyone else might say of it?

"A tyrant with an evening clock." Camille chuckled a little. "Did I tell you I don't like them? I think I might actually hate them for what they're doing to you."

"They provide me with a home. A place to sleep. Camille, please."

"No, no, my mind's made up," Camille said cheerfully. "I hate them. You should move out of there."

"I'll tell them it's for work. I'll bring some drafts I'd like you to look at, so it won't be a lie."

"We'll make a conniving liar out of you yet."

"But not a tyrant, I think." Robespierre squeezed Camille's shoulder. Camille's body felt fragile, as always, like a bigger man might snap it on a whim. "You worry too much for other people, Camille."

"And not enough for myself? Well, but so many other people seem to insist on doing that for me already. I don't want to force them to find a new hobby."

"We do it because we love you."

"We? Oh good, so it's another conspiracy, then," Camille said. "We seem to have a lot of those around; one wonders where they all come from, really. I mean, how do people find the time?"

Robespierre frowned. Camille, you never know which subjects are not suitable for levity. "I don't expect you to understand. These people are not patriots; they have no wish to see this Revolution succeed in bringing about the perfect republic. They're traitors. They must be rooted out."

"You have a busy afternoon still ahead then."

"Yes. I have." Robespierre rose. "And so do you, I'm sure."

"I can probably find something to do if I put my mind to it, I suppose," Camille said, but his tone was light, familiar; you'll start writing as soon as I'm gone, Robespierre thought. You probably wish I'd gone already, so you can continue. I know you, Camille; you're not lazy. The blood of the Revolution flows in your veins; you could not be idle even if you wanted to.

And I don't think you want to, anyway.

"We'll be reviewing some cases; it might get a little late."

"If you're under the impression I don't know what a slave you are to your work, you're mistaken," Camille said, but Robespierre noticed he was already reaching for his pen.


End file.
